The Lady Hellion Read Free

well-researched facts. His ability to recall the smallest detail he’d read fifteen years ago fascinated her.
    Quint folded his arms across his chest. “Yes, it very much matters. And it’s not as if you can hide the other party’s identity, if I’m to serve as your second—unless you plan to blindfold me. But all of that is irrelevant as I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to go through with a duel.”
    Without a cravat, the strong column of his throat shifted and rippled as he talked, and she was reminded that she’d once had the opportunity to experience the power in his lithe frame. Had once shivered as he’d clutched her so tight she could hardly breathe.
    But that was long ago, years now, all before he’d fallen in love with someone else. A lump formed in her throat, regret nearly choking her, but she forced it down. “And I cannot see how you can possibly prevent it. I do not need your approval.”
    Cocking his head, he studied her with shrewd scrutiny. “What happens if I say no?”
    She lifted a shoulder. “I shall muddle through somehow.”
    “If you do, your reputation will suffer.”
    “My reputation has already suffered—which is why I have accepted the challenge. To repair it.”
    He huffed a seemingly exasperated laugh. “That is ridiculous.”
    “Oh, because I’m a woman I cannot have honor?”
    “I never said that. Women can duel if they so choose, as far as I’m concerned. Stupidity is not ascribed to gender. What’s ridiculous is thinking no one will learn of it. Nigh on impossible to keep a duel private these days.”
    “Yes, but you won’t tell anyone. Neither will I, for that matter.”
    “Your opponent might, as could the surgeon who is taxed with removing a ball from your chest. But it hardly matters because I cannot serve as your second.”
    “Cannot—or will not?”
    A flush stole over his cheekbones. Was he embarrassed? She’d never, ever seen him blush. “Cannot,” he said. “And you’d better not go through with it.”
    Intolerable, high-handed males. Sophie had suffered them her whole life. Between idiotic rules and unrealistic expectations, an English woman’s life was more constricting than stays after a five-course meal. “I must. And will you tell me why?”
    “No. Will you tell me why you need to duel?”
    She shook her head. “No. I cannot.”
    He shifted, coming close enough to send her pulse racing. She could see the rise and fall of his chest, the shadow of tomorrow’s beard on his jaw. Strong, wide shoulders, lean waist. Heat radiated off his body to warm her in all the places ladies never mentioned—places that Sophie happened to like quite a bit. He was such a complicated specimen of brains and brawn, a combination she happened to find particularly appealing.
    Not to mention he had full, strong lips that she knew firsthand were quite adept at turning a woman’s insides to jelly. Well, hers, at least.
    “Cannot, or will not?” he asked, refocusing her attention.
    She hated having her words turned around on her, so she ignored the question altogether and sidled away. “Will you at least teach me how it’s done?” She peered at the stack of books on the floor behind his desk, the ones he’d hidden when she entered. They were all medical journals on . . . diseases of the brain. Every single one. Now why hadn’t he wanted her to see those?
    “Dueling? You want to learn how to stand on a field and shoot at another person?”
    She glanced up at him. “Yes. I’ve never even fired a pistol before.”
    “Firing is not the hard part. Hitting something is the trick.”
    “I thought the point of a duel was to miss.”
    “Deloping is considered ungentlemanly. Have you not even read the Code Duello ? The point of a duel is to restore your honor while not getting yourself killed. And to place your bullet where it will do the least damage.”
    “See how little I know? You can teach me.”
    “No. I cannot involve myself in this. You should merely